“He knew how I despised him. Once he broke both her legs.” She shook him hard. “That’s when he got her with child.”
Pain twisted in David’s gut. Aye, he knew Osbern. He despised Osbern. But David had a daughter, and a wife who carried their child. Osbern knew that somewhere his wife lived, and Osbern would never give up until he had her in his hands again. A measure of calm had returned to Alisoun. She knew what should be done but she seemed unable to comprehend the danger. “I promised I would keep Philippa and the baby safe, and with your help I can do it.”
“You’ve given me no choice.”
She enveloped him in an embrace. “You’ll see the right of it soon enough. I know you will.”
But she was wrong. He would never see the right of it. Not when they stepped out of the herb garden and heard the hail from the visitors beyond the drawbridge.
“Osbern, duke of Framlingford to visit his dear friend Sir David of Radcliffe.”
21
I have lived in castles all my life, and I’ve never known how it happens. Yet I’ve seen it time and again—rumors about the lord and lady travel at the speed of a spring tide. That day was no exception.
Within moments of Sir David and Lady Alisoun’s disappearance into the herb garden, everyone knew that something of importance had occurred in the training yard. Somehow the lord and lady had come to an accord. The rains would again nourish the crops, the servants would quarrel no more—and the newlyweds would once again share a bed.
I admit I might have had something to do with that rumor, not by anything I said, but by my actions. It was a small thing, but I picked an apple off one of the fruit trees and gave it to Bert. Watching Sir David with Lady Alisoun had mellowed a bit of my adolescent intolerance of bratty tagalong girls, and the half of the castle folk who had found reason to linger in view of the herb garden gate noticed.
So when the call came from outside the gate that the duke of Framlingford waited for permission to enter, everyone scowled. It wasn’t so much that he was considered an unsavory character. Everyone knew he was; his reputation resounded throughout England. But he was too lofty a man to be bothered with Lady Alisoun’s servants, and Radcliffe had never been important enough to visit before. Yet he had come now, just when we wanted our lord and lady to have a chance to secure their peace.
Instead, Sir David marched Lady Alisoun out of the herb garden like an infuriated parent with a misbehaving child. She tried to shake him off, but he just walked her faster, and when she called to me, I had to run to catch up.
She grabbed me and dragged me with them. “Go into the keep,” she said. “Tell my maids that Osbern, duke of Framlingford, has arrived. Make sure all of them know, and tell them to prepare a feast worthy of our honored guest.”
She sounded urgent. Sir David looked grim. I nodded and ran.
Bert ran with me.
Why now? Alisoun wondered desperately. She needed time to accustom David to the fact of who Philippa really was, but time she did not have. The open gate and lowered drawbridge left the way open to any who chose to enter Radcliffe in the daylight hours, but with a courteous flourish, Osbern waited outside for permission. And what could they do? They had to let him in, treat him hospitably, and pretend nothing had ever happened.
The subterfuge made her feel ill. Asking David to share in it seemed unfair, and from the scowl on his face, he felt the same way. In a low, apologetic tone, she said, “David?”
David moved toward the gate. He didn’t look at her. In no way did he acknowledge the plea in her tone. “We must welcome our guest.”
“I beg you, David…”
He stopped and turned her to face him. He clutched her arm tightly. The black of his pupils had swallowed all the tenderness in his eyes. When he spoke, his deep voice grated like flesh over gravel. “I will do nothing. You took responsibility when you brought Philippa with you into my castle, and so I will simply hope no disaster overtakes us.” Moving forward again, he dragged her behind him. “But when Osbern leaves, you and I will talk.”
She had only a moment to realize that she’d underestimated the strength of his fury, then their heels clomped in hollow bursts on the wooden drawbridge.
“My lord!” David waved at the small party of horsemen waiting on the road. “Welcome to Radcliffe.”
Osbern’s face lit up at the sight of his host and hostess, and Alisoun had to close her eyes against the surge of anger and dismay.
With his sleek black hair and his flashing eyes, he appeared the embodiment of masculine beauty. His steed matched his hair and the background of his coat-of-arms matched his steed. He moved with an oiled grace, and kept himself in the best of fighting condition. He looked, in fact, the perfect knight.
He and his squire moved away from his knights to come before Alisoun and David. Osbern dismounted and strode forward to grasp their hands. “Is the rumor then true?” he asked. “Are you wed?”
“Lady Alisoun graciously consented to become my wife,” David answered smoothly.
Osbern’s fingers tightened uncomfortably on Alisoun’s. “You are a lucky man,” he said to David.
“Luck had nothing to do with it.” David smiled with practiced ease. “I’m simply the better suitor.”
Throwing back his head, Osbern boomed with laughter. “No false modesty from you, eh?”
“None at all.” David freed himself from Osbern’s grip and indicated the gate behind them. “But come inside and take refreshment. It’s not often Radcliffe hosts so honored a guest as the duke of Framlingford.”
“Best get used to it, Sir David.” Now Osbern’s fingers squeezed Alisoun’s to the point of pain. “With Lady Alisoun as your wife, the king himself will lead the way.”
David picked up her free hand and kissed it. “Aye, I’ve married a national treasure.”
“That you have.” Osbern kissed the hand he held, then in a voice meant just for her, he said, “But feel how cold her fingers are—and on such a summer’s day.”
Releasing her, he stepped up to David and they walked shoulder-to-shoulder into the bailey, leaving Alisoun staring at their backs.
So that was how the men would play it. Deceitful courtesy, smiling falsehoods, manly fellowship, and beneath it all, the knowledge that tormented them all. The knowledge of Philippa’s existence.
Had Eudo told Philippa of Osbern’s appearance? Alisoun stepped out, making a wide circle around David, Osbern, and the stable which seemed to have captured their attention. She hoped viewing the horses would keep them busy while she got to the keep and took the precaution of hiding Philippa.
Behind her, she heard the clomp of horses’ hooves as Osbern’s knights crossed the drawbridge, then the jingle of tack as they entered the bailey. It sounded as if they were getting closer to her. Even pursuing her. She glanced back.
The horses seemed about to ride her down. Astonished, she stopped and stared. The horses kept moving. The fully armored knights grinned beneath their helmets.
Then Osbern shouted, “Roger!”
The knights came to a halt, and the lead knight dismounted. He walked toward Alisoun, his hand on his sword. David started toward them at a run.
“Roger!” Osbern shouted again.
Lifting his hands, the knight removed his helmet and grinned, his one tooth winking in the light. “Do you remember me, my lady?”
Of course she remembered him. Roger of Bissonet, Osbern’s steward and faithful servant—and another man who could recognize Philippa if he happened to see her.
David grabbed her arm and faced Roger. Without a smile, he said, “We greet you, Sir Knight, and offer our hospitality for you and your fine animal.” He looked at all the knights. “For all of your fine steeds. If you’ll go to the stable, my servants will show your squires where to place your horses. After you’ve ascertained they will have good care, please come to the great hall and wash down the dust of the road with our newly brewed ale.”
Osbern loomed on her other side. Jerking his head toward
the stable, he commanded, “Go on.”
Roger bowed and signaled to the other knights, and they moved away.
Osbern took Alisoun’s hand again and bowed over it with every evidence of contrition. “My pardon, Lady Alisoun. Roger is a mighty fighter, but he’s not a deep thinker. He just wanted to greet you and didn’t realize how his actions might alarm you.”
Alisoun knew Osbern too well to believe his protestations. His charm scarcely covered his wretched soul, and that he bothered to use that charm at all spoke highly of his respect for David.
She must have paused too long before answering, for David answered for her. “It would never have occurred to Lady Alisoun to be alarmed by your knight, Your Grace. Her courage knows no bounds, and for that reason I have sworn always to protect her.”
“Even from her own foolishness?” Osbern asked.
She found her tongue quickly enough this time. “I am the lady of George’s Cross. I am never foolish.” She moved toward the keep and to her dismay, both men walked behind her, an unshakable escort.
“Don’t listen to her, Sir David.” Osbern sighed in gusty melancholy. “I thought my dear wife above foolishness, also.”
“What happened to change your mind?” David sounded no more than politely interested, but Alisoun detected the thread of steel in his tone.
“She was in such a hurry to show our child to her dear friend Lady Alisoun, she rose from childbed and rode to Beckon Castle. That’s another of Lady Alisoun’s holdings, if she hasn’t told you. Philippa sickened there, so the ladies took to the road—I told you they were foolish—and went to George’s Cross where my dear wife died of…” Osbern paused as if confused. “What was it she died of, Lady Alisoun?”
Alisoun climbed the stairs to the top, placed her hand on the door latch, and looked back down at Osbern. “To my enduring sorrow, Philippa and the babe died of a contagious fever.”
“I have so few clear memories of that dreadful time.” Osbern’s sharp gaze remained at odds with his words. “What kind of fever was it?”
“A dreadful one.”
“Ah, I remember now.” Leaning against the wall, Osbern said to David, “That dread disease that swept away the life of my beloved wife was so severe, Lady Alisoun could not wait until I arrived to bury her. Lady Alisoun so feared an outbreak among her people she placed Philippa in the ground at George’s Cross—the first duchess of Framlingford not buried in Framlingford’s graveyard in the family plot.”
Opening the door, Alisoun said, “There are a great many duchesses in your family plot, Osbern. Every duke in your family seems to have had an extraordinary number of wives. One less hardly matters.”
“But it does.” A smile played around Osbern’s lips. “My father and my grandfather accounted for every one of their wives. I would hate to be less of a man than they were.”
Alisoun meant to step inside. She knew she shouldn’t answer, but the words popped out of her mouth unbidden. “Osbern, you are exactly the man they were.”
“My thanks, lady.” Osbern bowed with a flourish.
David pushed Alisoun inside and spoke to Osbern. “Come inside, my lord, and sample our humble hospitality.”
With a light step, Osbern ran up and followed Alisoun closely. Too closely. “Ouch!” He had stepped on her heel, and he apologized while she slipped her boot back into place. She took two steps. He did it again. She turned on him this time and commanded, “Stay back.”
“I thought you would want to know where I was,” he answered. “And what I was doing.”
The whoreson knew Philippa wasn’t buried in that grave. He’d as good as said so. He knew she lived, and lived somewhere under Alisoun’s protection. He acted as if he knew her to be here, at Radcliffe. Yet how was that possible? She had hoped that hiding Philippa so close at hand would distract him, should he ever discover the empty grave.
David spoke to Osbern as she fitted her boot to her foot again. “As long as I know where you are and what you’re doing, my lady Alisoun need have no more than her normal prudence.”
She should be grateful. David seemed to be dedicated to caring for her. But it was Philippa she worried about. Philippa, who had been married for her wealth. Philippa, who had no relatives to ensure her husband would treat her well.
Pausing beneath the arch that led into the great hall, Alisoun scanned it bitterly. But she had been wed for her wealth, too. She had no relatives to guarantee her safety. Women like her and Philippa were as vulnerable as that kitten David had given her—just as likely to be kicked as petted.
In the great hall, manservants assembled the trestle tables. The serving maids, both hers and David’s, placed white cloths upon the head table. The pages polished the silver plate. Eudo placed the great salt before the noble guest’s chair.
Nowhere did she see Philippa. God be praised, Philippa had vanished. Abruptly, Alisoun asked, “My lord, what brings you to Radcliffe and so far from the king?”
It was rude to demand his business before he’d had refreshment, but she had a reputation for coldness. Let it serve her now.
Predictably, Osbern only chuckled and shoved his way past her and to the fire. Looking freely around the hall, he dropped his cloak and gloves to the floor and paid no attention to the serving maids as they scurried to pick them up. His voice boomed out. “I detect Lady Alisoun’s fine hand in your home, Sir David.”
David, too, shoved his way past her. “You do indeed, Osbern. She hung the tapestries the first morning she arrived, and she’s been busy ever since.”
The great hall did look more impressive, Alisoun admitted. Just that morning, she’d set one of David’s craftsmen to work on the wall behind the dais. Under Philippa’s direction, he had painted the whitewash with red lines to represent masonry blocks, and within each block, he’d drawn a flower.
Philippa had supervised him. Where had she vanished?
“A fine woman, but better now that she has a man to guide her.” Osbern watched Alisoun as she wandered farther into the huge chamber.
She heard him clearly. How could she not? He projected his voice so all could hear.
He asked, “Sir David, you will guide her, won’t you?”
“I find Lady Alisoun needs little guidance,” David answered. “Her wisdom is renowned throughout the land.”
“Her wisdom, like all women’s, is tainted with emotion.”
David’s eyes widened. “Are you saying my lady is emotional?”
Accepting the cup of ale Eudo poured him, Osbern drank before he replied. “Lady Alisoun does not show emotions as other women do, but I believe she has them, and I believe they run deep.”
A shudder ran up Alisoun’s spine.
Osbern stared into his cup as if he could read the truth in its depths. “Nothing could change the course of her emotions. Not the dictates of a mere man, not the dictates of the king, not even the dictates of God. She would make a dread enemy, for if she hated she would hate until she had harried you from the face of the earth.” He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming. “Or for a good friend, she would sacrifice everything.”
Controlling her expression, she said, “You see something that is not there, my lord.”
“Do I? Perhaps.” He traced the lip of the cup with his long finger, and his stacked rings glistened in the firelight. “Still, I think a husband will do well for you. After all, any husband who married you worked for his position through stealth and boldness, through bravery and cunning. He’ll not want to lose the fruit of his labors for any reason.”
Osbern always knew where to strike the telling blow. For her, he mocked her with the fact she’d been tricked by a master into marriage, and for her fortune only. For David, he suggested that her scheme to protect Philippa would result in the loss of that fortune.
Philippa. Alisoun had to maintain control of herself for Philippa. “You never told us why you are here.”
“Ah. Lad, help me remove my armor.” Eudo came at once to Osbern’s aid while the
man continued, “I had a fancy to travel about the countryside and found myself at George’s Cross with my troop. There I found a most interesting arrangement. Sir Walter lay in bed, beaten mindless, advising that young man…what’s his name?”
“Hugh,” David said.
“Hugh,” Osbern repeated. “Sir Walter was instructing Hugh in how to direct the operation of the castle. I found it fascinating that Lady Alisoun would leave her most valuable stronghold in the hands of a youth and someone so damaged.”
“That was my decision,” David said. “I’ve sent four messengers and received as many from them, and all seems to be well. Is that not the truth?”
“Your decision! Of course. I admired the wisdom of the arrangement, especially since it gave you the freedom to come back to your stronghold at Radcliffe.”
“So all is well at George’s Cross?” David insisted.
“Very well. They served me an admirable meal.” Osbern glanced at the table the servants had prepared for them. Although they had been unprepared for guests, Alisoun always assured herself a proper table had been set.
Osbern continued, “Sir Walter was not yet able to sit up and eat, but young Hugh kept me company, and entertained me highly, too.”
Alisoun warmed to his praise. “Hugh is a youth of which any foster parent would be proud.”
“Aye. It was he who told me you’d been married, and of all the wild rumors surrounding the ceremony’s hurried occurrence.” He looked pointedly at Alisoun’s waist. “Have we a reason to congratulate you, Sir David?”
“Would you not always congratulate a bridegroom?” David parried.
Osbern took the rebuke with smiling good humor. “True, true.”
His knights and his squire strode in with Guy on their heels. David’s steward walked stiffly, annoyed about something, and he came at once to David’s side. He spoke quietly, but Alisoun heard him. “Cheeky whoresons. They act as if they own Radcliffe.”
Osbern must have heard, too, but he took no obvious offense. “Guy of the Archers, is it not?”
“My lord, the duke of Framlingford.” Guy bent his head in reluctant homage. “I’m honored that you remember me.”
Once a Knight Page 30
